


Estranged

by Realsies5926 (orphan_account)



Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: Creativity | Roman "Princey" Sanders is a Little Shit, Fantasy, Fantasy AU, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-20
Updated: 2020-11-02
Packaged: 2021-03-07 22:53:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,649
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26565415
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/Realsies5926
Relationships: Creativity | Roman "Princey" Sanders/Deceit | Janus Sanders
Kudos: 17





	1. Chapter 1

Remus swung his legs atop the mast, watching the scorching sun sink below the sea as it ravished on his skin. He breathed the salty sea air deep, licking his top teeth with a harsh tongue. The wind blew back his long hair, white streak shimmering in the lustrous, dimming light. He hugged the mast tight as the ship rocked, half-folded hat shifting askew against the dark, sturdy wood. Seagulls chirped above his head, flying quick and brief over the ship. The gentle swish of the sea brought peace to Remus' mind. 

Shore was not far ahead. Below his perch, his men were yelling and embracing with glee, excited for a night of festivities and fortune. Remus was more than pleased with his crew's enthusiasm, but there was one thing on his mind. He fiddled with war-torn balloon sleeves and a tight, corset-akin belt high at his waist. His heeled boots clicked as they swung by each other, ivory caps scraping the soles. He hummed to himself to keep occupied.

The capital was not a kind place to him. Too many people, too many reminders, not enough wind in the air to fill his lungs. Remus saw the castle form afar, breaking over the skyline through the clouds in a glorious point at the top; the tower. The roofs donned black stone, walls grey and covered in vines. Red creeper clutched the cracks in the walls like veins, a stark contrast to the moss-ridden, water-damaged bricks of ancient debris. 

The gates were grand and glimmering, even from its horizon, which Remus and his men clutched the edges of. They were so far off in the distance they were hardly a spec, but they gleamed in Remus' face like he was right there, staring up at the height from which he'd just dropped, scrambling to collect his drawstring bag back into his hands. It was long ago that he last laid eyes on Royal grounds and he remembered every square inch like it was etched into his retinas. 

"I see the docs!" a woman yelled in a rough voice, botched from the smoke of wildfire. Remus hopped to his feet and, with a wide stance, scanned the cusp of dry land with a keen eye. There he saw a clutter of fishermen and a line of stuck-up aristocrats watching them with curiosity. He checked their flag: it was nowhere to be seen. Remus slid down the pole with expert precision. He landed on his toes and jogged through the middle line to his first mate and short time companion, Ursa. 

"Land, ho," she snorted with ample sarcasm. Remus rolled his eyes; her posh accent only fit the linguistic should she present it with some kind of resentful scorn. Remus lounged with his back to the shore, looking out on the crew, and by extension the sea.   
"This should be fun," he replied, quietly anxious. "I haven't been here in three years, but it isn't exactly... foreign. At least, not when I look at it."   
Ursa eyed him. He scoffed with a smile. "You know what I'm talking about."

She nodded, taking in the scattering stars just starting to appear. Not five minutes in the future, Remus would be faced with exactly that. 

The ship hit shallow waters all too quickly for Remus' taste. The crew was met with confusion and skepticism for their wild looks and dodgy, varied accents. Used to it, they shrugged off silent questions and suspicious looks and made their ways straight into town, knowing exactly how their schedules worked. A pirate's life was simple; go in, have fun, and leave. What 'having fun' meant was up to the individual, but this crew was different. Their one rule? Only the rich. 

Remus was the last to leave, dawning a much more conspicuous headpiece: a straight-rimmed black bowler with a single, pale yellow rose embedded in rope-woven binding resting on top. As he passed, eyes concealed, one meek teen in a long, blue coat darted off towards the nearest tavern. He hid behind a pole to watch Remus' direction before running inside eagerly. 

Logan took back his place at the table and picked his book back up, dainty fingers sifting through the pages to where an old bill kept his place. Virgil looked up from a half-empty glass with a steely glint to his gaze.   
"I assume he's here?" Virgil asked ominously. Logan, used to his surly demeanor, nodded. He clearly wasn't paying enough attention for further conversation, so Virgil left him be. Logan reached out for his drink. 

"He went left," Logan informed him. "Towards the market." Virgil nodded and leaned back on his chair with his feet on the table, careful not to rip the patches in his newly mended winter cloak. He looked through the gathering of drunkards clambering about the tavern to the brightly lit street. The boardwalk was barren, besides the odd bar patron. Virgil swung off his legs and made a slow escapade for the door, Logan packing up his things and following close behind as quickly as possible. 

"We aren't allowed in the palace gates after hours, Virgil," Logan warned, tone shifting in pitch to match the scratching of nails on a chalkboard. Virgil shrugged and hoisted him along by the wrist. His icy silver hair swished over his eyes like flexible quartz. Logan stumbled along behind him, having to jog to keep pace with Virgil's long, purposeful strides.   
"Nor is he," Virgil retorted as their steel-capped soles assaulted the boardwalk. "Ever."

Logan and Virgil ran as a unit once Logan's book was safely away, keeping close and stopping before every corner. On every beat of the clock in his head, Virgil turned it to trace his own steps. Logan did not argue. 

The pair found Remus standing alone on a street corner under a dying lamp, fiddling with the rose on his hat. His eyes were solemn and unfeeling, which Virgil almost pitied. The empathy quickly died, for the man before him and the man whose presence the hat implied.   
Virgil and Logan squatted low to watch as the rogue Captain rose from his melancholy to look down the street. Virgil was all too familiar with the voice pooling in like thick mercury from around the corner. 

"Here to return my hat, I see," Janus' drawling husk hissed. "Or is my presence a side quest? When I asked for its safe return upon our reuniting, it was, as is always, rhetorical."  
Remus let the guilt seep into his posture, wilting like a cursed rose.   
"Even you I could not tell how long I would be gone. Of all things to be born, a prince is the least simple to leave behind." Remus' grating, tone deaf voice came at a surprisingly low volume. Even Janus was not as quiet in the abandoned marketplace.

"Well, you can keep it longer, if you so desire. It may come in handy when I help you into the castle." Remus looked up.   
"You plan to help me? How did you know?" he hooted, voice suddenly filled with delighted energy. Janus nodded with a small smirk and took his arm, leading him off into the dark of night. Remus replaced his hat and accepted Janus' pastel yellow cloak.   
"Not tonight. You just arrived."

Virgil and Logan watched dutifully as the pair sauntered off in silence. Virgil's face had morphed from a sullen concern into apprehension and an obvious conflict of interest. Logan patted his arm and had him look deep into his dark eyes.   
"Look at my eyes, what colour are they?"  
"Black..."  
"And my hair?"   
"Also... also black."  
"Coat?"  
"Blue."  
"Better?"  
"...Yes."

Logan smiled at Virgil, a rare occurrence lessening in its rarity. Virgil stood up with Logan's aid and stepped towards an alley.   
"And now we know," Virgil remarked. 


	2. Chapter 2

The street Janus lived on was as lavish as it had ever been. The pavement was clean, air crisp and fresh, and the houses were all large and split apart. Janus pulled out a key from his shirt, and with shivering hands, opened the door. He held out a hand for Remus to take while climbing the stairs to his porch.   
"Not much has changed since I was here last," Remus commented, seeing the same black wallpaper and polished stone floors. Janus nodded, looking around the lobby as Remus took it all in. 

"Indeed it is," he replied thoughtfully. Janus took the cloak he loaned Remus and wrapped it back around himself.   
"Still averse to the cold, I see,."  
"Yes, to my detriment."

Remus turned him around and used a finger to dismiss the chunk of silky hair covering the left side of his face. It fell behind Janus' shoulder and draped over the back of his cloak. The scales on his face were clear as day in the firelight.   
"Cursed still?" he asked rhetorically. Janus bowed his head in shame, accepting the tight hug Remus offered. Janus piped up upon his sudden sincerity.  
"You changed," he remarked. Remus chuckled.  
"My madness is only dormant. I had to get here without recognition from the crowd. No doubt my memory would come flooding back to the public head should I present myself truly."

Janus nuzzled into Remus' mangled curls, taking in graciously the smell of fresh salt.   
"Come with me and I'll let you expose your 'true madness'." His tone was seductive and hot, words coming dry to Remus' ears. "To the shower? You need it."  
"I can compromise with you on that."

* * *

Janus brushed through Remus' newly washed curls with a wooden comb, humming a soft tune. Remus was half asleep in his chair before the mirror, watching the moonlight reflect from it through open windows. The wooden boarding underneath his feet was warm from the fire, which balanced wonderfully with the gentle, but still extraordinarily cold, breeze. Janus' pale hands glowed in the light. "You're paler," Remus pointed out. Janus stopped his humming and examined the back of his palm in question. The right one. His left was still wrapped in a tight, waterproof cast.   
"You're quite the opposite. I suspected you would be, but the scars..." Janus traced Remus' left breast from the outer side, up over his clothed shoulder. Remus trapped his hand between his head and the cloth as it came upwards. 

"That one I suffered through a horrid infection for. Care to hear about it?"  
"There's the Remus I remember. I was concerned you'd stay away forever."  
"No trauma can cage this wild, hungry spirit."  
"Oh, I know."

The two shared a devious chuckle, relishing in each other's presence. Janus kissed a mark on Remus neck put there not ten minutes before, making Remus retract in surprise at how sore it was becoming.   
"That's vile," he growled, impressed. "I knew you had it in you, but I didn't think it would last with my absence."  
"Speaking of which-"

Fuck.

"Why did it take you so long to get the fuck off the sea and come see me?" Remus recoiled with a nervous grin, avoiding looking into the mirror for fear of being turned to stone by Janus' death-like glare. He babbled wordlessly for a moment, lost for how to defend himself. The scenery was still serene and romantic, which clashed with his awkwardness greatly. The reason he would give should he tell the truth was a rather embarrassing one. One glance in Janus' direction told him _'if you lie, I'll murder you'._

"I was scared," he admitted, guilty and humiliated. "I needed a distraction after that night, and the crew suggested a welcome party... do you have any idea how long they called me greenie? Almost until I became Captain! Ungrateful sods, I've broken bones for that lot-"  
"Remus?"  
"Oh, yeah, so we went to the closest town and fucked around with the locals, it was loads of fun. After that night, I-"  
"Remus?"  
"Yeah, yeah, I'm gettin' to it. Anyway, after that night I decided to join the crew. No point in bein' on the run if there are tracks in the ground to hunt you down with."  
"Remus!" Remus jumped, looking up with wide eyes.   
"You're a pirate _Captain_?"

Remus grinned cheekily, shimmying his shoulders eagerly. Janus clearly did not expect it, which was a mistake on his part. Remus tackled him forward and ran a hand roughly through Janus' long, thick hair.   
"Proud of me?"  
"Yes, quite... you're forgetting your capital accent already."  
"Christ, I wish. Sometimes I slip back into it out of habit."

Janus sighed. "Let's go to bed, darling. You will need some time to recuperate after so long traversing the waves in search of fortune untold."  
Remus scoffed. "You are my fortune untold."

* * *

Virgil kicked back hes feet over the open windowsill, staring into a sugary sky. Logan sat at the desk wit his book, chair turned to face Virgil's window. Virgil had been silent since they arrived back, brooding behind the hood of his heavy cloak.   
"You plot to sabotage them?" Logan asked, knowing already. Virgil nodded once, tapping his silver capped canine on the right. Logan's expression turned from numb to fretful and concerned.   
"Roman is his brother, Virgil. All he has ever done is talk, and you hate him for this?" Virgil bore daggers into Logan's eyes as he looked up. He snarled silently. 

"I do not trust either of them. There is a reason I left the Royal Guard-"  
"You are paranoid." Virgil resented this greatly. 

"Paranoid? Janus is acursed- a snake! And Remus, he is unworthy of his title, his privilege. He had not seen what I have."

Logan and Virgil both stood a room's length from one another. Logan was ready to storm out and hide from his bubbling feelings of uneasiness, to avoid such an emotional confrontation. Virgil would not let him, he knew, so he stayed and took his chances.   
"Remus has not been seen for over three years, and he shows up today? On the day of the News? You know why he's here."

Virgil let out a huff and collapsed back into his seat, feet up again. "Alone with Prince Roman? I will never let it happen."  
Logan gave in, turning in for the night. Virgil, that evening, caught not a wink. 


	3. Chapter 3

Janus was already fast asleep when Remus got out of bed. He felt awful for leaving so soon after Janus so generously offered to help him into the castle, but Remus didn't do things his way. Remus pushed away the covers with a gentle hand and laid them back out carefully, encasing Janus in their warmth. Janus shifted and moaned in discontent.   
"Sorry, love," he whispered, kissing Janus' forehead innocently.

Remus swiped the sweat from his forehead and ruffled his still-damp hair in the mirror. His eyes were no longer stained with soot and grime, it was a strange sight. He was completely clean; the concern was his hands. Grit and dirt would ordinarily aid in climbing a tall wall, but he would have to do with the callouses already there. Remus slipped on his shirt and his boots and headed out the already open window, looking back a final time at Janus' sleeping form. 

The fall to the ground from the third floor was almost like nothing, compared to the great heights he would fling himself from in the far north after a pillaging. The thrill, he was beginning to miss, but his longing for adventure would only make the task more invigorating the longer his desire stewed. His soles hit the smooth concrete with a hard tap and again as he started jogging. The street was deserted, but he stayed close to the houses in favor of caution. The winds and curves of Janus' neighborhood were tight and constricting, just like he liked it. The buildings were tall and most of them old, held up by strong foundations of stone and wood for generations. The streets were clean and the stones in the main road were almost level with the earth keeping them in place, only rising above it by half a centimetre. 

Remus came to a stuttering halt as he spotted the end of the street to his right and thanked his lucky stars he somehow remembered the way. He hid behind the edge of the archway looked out at the great metal gates of the Palace Ophelia. Their great spikes adorned at the top like living spearheads gleamed in the moonlight, tangled in rose vines. Not a spot of rust disgraced them; of this, Remus did suspect. The Captain hesitated for a fleeting moment, unworthiness creeping in as he remembered the night he left. He shook his head and plowed forward, keeping to the edges of the street like he did. He slipped skillfully around the corner and along the courtyard walls, old hat over his eyes, looking for a crack in which to wedge his hook. 

Evading the guards was less than a task, let alone a challenge. Having been raised and trained alongside them, he knew each weakness in their tight-knit schedules and took advantage of each slip in the regime. First, look around the bend and wait for a duty change. Second, climb the first wall and hide in a nearby tree. Third, hop onto the lowest turret and scale from there. Remus did this all in his head with a quick glance at the terrain. Of course, he'd traversed this same routine many a night before his disappearance. A plan he did not have to concoct.

The guard sitting at the gate stood up after not a minute, giving Remus his window. He pounced on the lowest bricks as the knight turned her head, using the building next to it as a boost. The tree's branches stung his face as they whipped in the gentle wind, scratching a small dent in his war-torn skin. The breeze wafted in the scent of the pine tree beside him. He inhaled generously and carried on, slinking by the tree and swinging to the ground by its thick branches.

Remus stared up at the tower before him. His chest almost touched the dry, dirty cobbles as he squinted to see a set of red curtains behind oak-lined glass. He looked at the hook in his hand and sighed vacantly before hacking into the stone and hauling himself up.

Halfway up, the wind was at breakneck speed. Remus, with all his might, held on as his hair whipped to the side violently, almost straight from the pressure. He kept climbing, determined to reach the top. As he clambered further and further, the gales only became more unforgiving. With bloodied fingers, Remus reached the wooden slats and hauled himself up, holding the window for dear life. He pried it open, glad for the lack of a lock, and stepped in. His hair returned to normal, tousled and falling in his face. 

The room was dark and mostly empty. He looked to his right; his bed had been disposed of. The floors were varnished to flawlessness and the doors were the same dark wood he remembered. held together by hinges of cast-iron. He marveled at what was once his room, pristine and otherworldly, without stepping down from the windowsill with dim light casting his shadow long across the floor. To his left, someone spoke. 

"Hello?" they asked, voice damaged and shaking. Remus turned his eyes to them, gleaming with concern as they glistened grey. He turned his head into the light with a tilt, frowning. Their gasp of shock and horror was like a flaming arrow to the chest. 

"You're arriv-ed," Roman huffed, tone flat and wounded. His voice echoed like a song on a broken record, hollow and choking. Remus stepped down and sat on the windowsill.   
"I hope you don't mind," he replied with equal unease. This was not how Remus imagined their reacquainting. Roman shifted the pillows at his head to accommodate him on the headboard. He leaned back and sighed.   
"I did pray."

Remus could have screamed in relief. He took a running start towards Roman and pounced like an animal that had never eaten before. He clutched Roman in an aggressively sentimental embrace, which Roman melted into. A silent understanding surfaced between them where neither questioned their circumstances, for just a short while as they cuddled. Remus drew up his legs and encased Roman protectively, having grown stronger and bulkier while Roman deteriorated. 

"How I've missed your antics, brother," Roman sobbed openly, shivering with delight. "When I discovered your bed abandoned, my heart, it bled. Your presence return-ed is a privilege I thought I nary deserved. The Gods have blessed this night."

Roman and his poetry, it always did move Remus, even if it did not show. Hearing it again made him join Roman in gentle sobs of relief and bliss. Remus said nothing as Roman rambled on in long winded verse of appreciation and praise he thought he'd never hear. 

"I am sick with regret. Father treated you ill, and I, on the sidelines, bore witness to your dishonor never in shame nor regret. I bathed in the praise of a man who meant it none while you suffered his squander with ample experience and pride which he did not supply. Your honor was true, mine was not, and the king rewarded you naught for it? A disgrace."

"The past can only stew in a pot hot enough to boil in. My water, it does not stir and my skies are clear," Remus replied. Roman smiled, surprised at the concise nature of Remus' retort. How he'd changed.   
"The king can harm me nothing, he is six feet beneath my boots. Thank you, Roman."


	4. Chapter 4

Virgil's heels came to a screeching halt at the street's corner. Logan panted behind him, anger and exhaustion flooding his veins as Virgil glared down the gates.   
"He's already in. You know how he climbs," Logan scoffed with a wheezing breath. Virgil rolled his eyes and took him by his frail wrist. Logan winced. "Careful!"  
"Hush," Virgil hissed between clenched fangs. Logan bore with it, relishing in the daydream that Virgil would be apologising later that evening for being so reckless. In any case, it was not the reality in the moment. For a while he would deal and follow, as he always did. Virgil hurried him along, half hiding him behind his back as they approached the gate with caution. A single guard stood placidly, staring into space.

"Patton," he husked. Patton snapped back into reality with a quick whip of his greying hair and smiled like nothing was going on. There lay a growing weariness to his once stern gaze.  
"We need in," he explained. Not a moment's hesitation passed Patton's mind before he stepped aside. Logan smiled briefly out of courtesy, allowing Patton to tag along behind them.   
"Where are we off to, boys?" he asked, voice soft and unassuming. Clearly, years of adapting to Virgil's every whim hadn't been misplaced.   
"Roman." A slight blush framed his sharp cheekbones. 

The castle was empty, cold; cold enough to feel damp and actually be drier than a bone in a desert. The halls, between every window, were decked with lavender which hung high from their metal railings. The carpet beneath their feet was lined with gold thread, unsoiled by the hellish rain outside. Virgil made sure to keep his boots mud-free for this particular trip.   
"Virgil," Patton beckoned from a few feet to his right. "What are you doing here? I know you're friends with the Prince, but it's a little late, isn't it?"  
"No," he rebutted. "My timing is fucking flawless." Upon his remark, they arrived at the stairs to Roman's room. "Stay here, you both."

"Remus!" Virgil screeched, an unhinged, abhorrently jealous and grievous cry. The doors flung open to Roman's room and the two sat in shock. Roman clung to his brother's shirt like it was his life in danger and not the other way around. "Come here."

Remus squealed, evading Virgil's winding lunge and watching his sword bury deep in Roman's wooden bedpost. Roman cried out and darted backwards, waving his hands as he stumbled weakly from his bed. "Now, Virgi-"  
"Quiet, Roman! You have no idea what he's become."  
"Wait-"  
"And you-" he snarled with bared teeth, tearing away his blade from the frame "-have the audacity to come here, after everything you've done, everything you said to me? Do you know what that did to me? Do you?" Virgil's voice had rotted from a vicious howl into a dry heave, stressed beyond belief from all the running, and the yelling, and the stress. He feared he would lose his voice soon.   
Remus had his sword drawn, stood at a poised angle between he and Roman. Roman clung to his free arm, growing weaker and plunging deeper into shock with each passing moment. "Brother, remind me why you came today?" Remus dropped the tip slowly to look down at his withering twin. "Remember?"

Virgil, too, was distracted by this. He lowered the edge of his steel cutlass and stood straight. He watched as Remus ignored the ample threat that was his presence and held Roman so gently. It was mind-blowing, after all he'd seen Remus do to him. All the pranks, the malice, the rivalry was gone; all which remained was wholesome and filling. Virgil could not bring himself to raise another word.   
"Yes, I remember," he hushed gently, lying Roman back into the warm embrace of his bedsheets. Virgil could not believe his eyes when Remus closed his cloak around Roman's shoulders. 

"I... I..." he vocalised pointlessly, trying to gain a grasp on the reality before him. Surely he was hallucinating. The clash of frigid moonlight with the heat in his cheeks made him look ill, perhaps with shock. 

Within a moment's notice, Patton was by his side. "What the everloving fuck happened here? Explain, promptly." 

"Virgil, I'm thoroughly disappointed," he scolded passively. His dampened tone was worse than a proper lashing, like a curs-ed carving in one's chest where the heart should beat. He dropped his guilty stare to the stone floor like a child, nodding as Patton sighed. Logan rubbed his arms in the cold, standing in the background awkwardly. He wished for nothing more than to be at home in front of the fireplace, or to at least have his cane to depend on. Something joined him, at his shoulder, in watching Virgil's hellish recompense. It was Remus.   
"Hello, dear boy." His voice felt like gravel on the ears. "You don't happen to be the youngen who dashed of to dear, sweet Virgil near the tavern earlier?"  
"Ho-"  
"Silence. He gave you that coat you were wearing. The same one you didn't want to risk now. Before you ask, I got it for him, many a year ago now. You must be of some importance to him, hmm?"  
"I have learned enough not to trust you, or anyone, with that information, but since you seem to know... yes. He took me in."  
"From where? To take someone in, you have to be out. Where was your 'out'?"  
"That's enough questions, for now, lost prince. I suggest you lay low for a while, having reappeared in a feathered cap and a shirt with two buttons."

Remus lay off. He enjoyed wrestling with the intelligent minds in his path, wisecracking far beyond the plausible; Logan was not an ordinary case. He was unwilling to participate for the pride that came with winning a verbal skirmish, and assumedly never would unless he was simply too cold or too tired to care. Had either been true, Remus would agree to leave him alone, but something was off about his stance which indicated something significantly more intriguing.   
"An old injury?" he asked, knowing the answer, the true one. Logan cussed under his breath and scoffed.   
"No."


End file.
